Regaining Freedom
by Black Dranzer
Summary: A chance of renewal..how will it be treated? Will past torments be left behind? How will new discrimination take their toll? Will greed be dominant over new morals? Full summary inside. No Pairings.
1. Chapter One

Regaining Freedom  
  
By: Black Dranzer  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade.  
  
Note: This story has no ties with my other story, Emptiness whatsoever; please do not connect this story to Emptiness in any aspect.  
  
Full Summary:  
  
A chance of renewal..how will it be treated? The Demolition Boys have been given the opportunity to start anew at a private school, all expenses paid for. Will they be able to leave behind their past torments? How will new discrimination take their toll on them? And what will happen if someone offers them the chance to become the holders of an unimaginable power? Will they accept? If they don't, how will they handle the consequences? No pairings.  
  
Chapter One  
  
Snowy scenery flashed by the window of the train, reflecting off the bright rays of the sun. Once in a while, a little clump of trees could be seen, casting a gray shadow on the white substance. It was a beautiful day, with white clouds and a pale blue sky that matched the pair of eyes watching it.  
  
With a bored sigh, Tala turned his attention away from the window and looked at his travel companions, whom he had just boarded the train with a few hours ago.  
  
Bryan was beside him, just as uninterested as he was, drinking a cup of water in slow sips. There was a frown on his face and Tala could almost feel the wince every time he drank.  
  
"He is probably afraid it is poisoned," Tala thought quietly, thinking back to the times Boris would 'accidentally' place a drop of poison into their drinks, just to test their senses; coincidentally, Bryan was 'tested' the most often – no wonder he never ate much.  
  
Not encouraged by Bryan's monotonous actions of sipping the water, Tala switched his attention to Spencer, who was keeping to himself as he sat in the seat opposite him. The older boy seemed not to mind the others on the train as he scanned through the newspaper he was holding in his hands. It made sense to Tala as Spencer was the one out of the four who accompanied Boris on his trips outside the abbey; he may have been on trains like this many times.  
  
A sudden movement captured Tala's attention as he looked over at Ian. The youngest Demolition Boy sat stiffly beside Spencer. Tala could see he was not used to being relaxed by the nervous looks he kept shooting around at anyone who moved. For a moment, Ian looked at Tala and the two kept eye contact for a few moments before Tala looked away.  
  
It seemed that he wasn't the only one who felt uncomfortable with their new surroundings. Balkov Abbey isn't what you'd call the liveliest place on earth and Boris would most likely take first prize in any ruthlessness contest. He bitterly thought back to the many harsh and painful events he had to endure.  
  
The first was the frustration he felt when Kai joined them and took all of Boris' attention. He knew his jealousy made no sense, but after all of the hard work and training he had completed, why should he be second to that of a newcomer? He had spent his whole life trying to become the best, even if he only received a "Good work Tala," in return, it would be enough.  
  
Then came the cyberization. It was true that he wanted to become strong, but he had wanted to achieve it of his own accord. Becoming a cyborg may have given him the advantage, but it also gave him a sense of dissatisfaction.  
  
The last, and most recent, could be somewhat of a bittersweet recollection. It was his battle with Tyson. He had to admit he had wanted more than anything to take Tyson's bit beast, but secretly inside, he wished for defeat. With Tyson's victory, he thought he could be free from all of the battling and manipulation. He hurt to see Wolborg mutated to such a state, and to see his own greed for power.  
  
Shaking his head, Tala tried to clear his thoughts of bad memories.  
  
"It's time to change," he thought, remembering the conversation he had had with the head of the BBA after Voltaire and Boris were sent to prison.  
  
The kind old gentleman understood the boys' need to escape from the haunting abbey and had provided them with financial support, as well as a chance at a new life. He had enrolled the four in a private institution located a bit south of Moscow - where they are heading now - and, knowing that the four boys were for the most part orphans, Mr. Dickenson had also given them official certificates with their very own last name. It had been slightly unsettling for Tala to have his own last name, but more so to see it shared with his three companions; meaning that, now, the Demolition Boys have become the 'Ivanov' brothers. He had chosen the last name himself, from a book he had found in one of Boris' bookselves.  
  
Though he tried his best to decline Mr. Dickenson's kind acts, he knew that, in truth, the patron's help is exactly what he and his 'brothers' needed. Add onto that, the kind sponsor had supplied them with the necessities required in their new institution, including the costly uniforms. The phrase 'thank you' had come very awkward to him at first, but he knew he had to somehow show his gratitude.  
  
"Maybe we could start anew," he said quietly, alerting the boy opposite him. He caught Ian's jittery look and raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You don't have to be so uptight," he said quietly.  
  
Ian folded his arms and replied, "I'm not uptight,"  
  
Bryan and Spencer looked up from their seats and watched on silently.  
  
All of a sudden, a waitress arrived with a trolley "Would you four like something to eat?" she asked sincerely. Ian almost jumped, but caught himself at the last minute. The waitress gave Ian a questioning look, and Tala smirked at the boy in defeat. Ian just slumped back in his seat with a scowl.  
  
"Would you like something to eat?" the waitress asked again patiently.  
  
Bryan ignored the lady and continued to drink while Spencer shook his head and turned back to the paper. Tala, noticing that he was hungry, asked for a bag of breadsticks. The lady smiled and gave him the bag while he returned her smile briefly and handed her a few coins from his wallet, somewhat slowly; he didn't handle money very often. The waitress then moved on to the next row of seats with her slightly emptier trolley of food.  
  
Tala then put his wallet back into his coat pocket and turned his attention to the bag. Taking out a breadstick, he bit off the tip of it and started to chew. He didn't know what to expect, as he didn't eat fresh food that often, but the crispy bread brought a warm, satisfying taste to his mouth. He finished the breadstick slowly, savoring every bite.  
  
A tiny muffled grumble caught his sensitive ears and he opened is eyes a slight crack. He could see Ian looking hungrily at the breadsticks in the bag and smirked to see the boy's stubborn frown. But he knew how hard it was to change how they lived; he had only started to adapt himself. He placed a breadstick in front of Ian's face.  
  
"I don't need one," Ian grumbled, though he didn't push Tala's hand away.  
  
Tala, with a frown, said quietly, but firmly, "Take it,"  
  
Ian shrugged and grabbed the breadstick, finishing it in two gulps, surprising the other three with his hasty actions.  
  
A light chuckle escaped from Tala's lips. Ian looked at him in surprise, never seeing Tala laugh before.  
  
"You don't need to stare," Tala said, "it isn't against the law to enjoy yourself anymore," The 'anymore' was said somewhat quietly, but the others caught on and a silence reigned over them.  
  
Tala looked out the window and apologized softly, "It just slipped out, I don't mean much by it,"  
  
"The past is behind us, we need not be bound by its leash any longer." Bryan said, the first to speak up. Tala noticed that the tense tone of the boy's voice still hadn't vanished, but it was slightly softer.  
  
"That is true," added Spencer, putting down his newspaper, "our fears are now locked up behind bars." The deep tone of Spencer's voice showed the deep confidence of his words; back up by a strong belief.  
  
Even Ian decided to reply, "Add onto that, we don't have to eat dried and moldy bread anymore,"  
  
This time, even Bryan cracked a slight smile as Ian grabbed Tala's bag of breadsticks and managed to steal three before Spencer got a hold of it. Leaving three behind, he handed it over to Bryan.  
  
Tala and Ian watched as Bryan looked uneasily at the bag. After a moment of thinking, he finally took it and sat it on his lap. Reaching inside, he pulled out a breadstick and brought it up to his mouth. After a light nibble, he started to take bigger bites.  
  
Not long afterwards, they returned to what they were doing before; Bryan sipping slowly at his water bottle, Spencer quietly examining the newspaper, but Ian had stopped fidgeting and was now relaxing against his seat, the lulling rhythm of the train's journey providing comfort.  
  
Outside, the sun continued to shine, casting upon the white snow glittering rays of light, giving the landscape a dazzling brilliance.  
  
"We are free now," Tala thought, before closing his eyes and drifting into his own light slumber.  
  
---To be continued  
  
Footnotes:  
  
'Ivanov' is Tala's official Japanese/Russian last name; his full Japanese/Russian name is Yuri (or Yuriy) Ivanov. The last name is NOT copyright by me, just making that clear.  
  
Author's Note: This chapter may be slightly boring, but it does introduce the main characters I'm going to use, though others may arrive later on. I may also accept OC submissions when the main plot starts to unfold, though expect it to be mostly for male characters. If there are any more questions/suggestions/comments, go ahead and review if you haven't thought of it already.  
  
I'm not going to include any OC pairings or anything, I think it is less confusing with pairings, but there will be a lot of OCs. There will be a change of character (personality) for each of the Demolition Boys for sure, as evident in this chapter, but if you don't mind it, then review to show that you support this story, thanks.  
  
-Black Dranzer 


	2. Chapter Two

Regaining Freedom  
  
By: Black Dranzer  
  
Summary: A chance of renewal..how will it be treated? The Demolition Boys have been given the opportunity to start anew at a private school, all expenses paid for. Will they be able to leave behind their past torments? How will new discrimination take their toll on them? And what will happen if someone offers them the chance to become the holders of an unimaginable power? Will they accept? If they don't, how will they handle the consequences? No pairings.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade.  
  
Note: This story has no ties with my other story, Emptiness whatsoever; please do not connect this story to Emptiness in any aspect.  
  
A/N: Thank you for all who reviewed to show your support. Here's the second chapter. Not much is revealed of the plot, just getting to know how I'm going to portray each of the Demolition Boys. Tala's POV won't be included in this since his 'opinion' is already revealed in the first chapter. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and will continue to support this story. This is the first time I've used POV (point of view) to write a story, so it may sound weird, please bear with me .U.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
---Ian's POV---  
  
I cracked open an eye and looked around. There wasn't much to see, other than the dark form of Bryan opposite me. He's just sitting there, not doing anything. But I guess there isn't much to do. It's been more than 6 hours since we boarded the train, and we've got about a few more hours to wait before we actually get to the train station closest to the school.  
  
I don't look forward to arrival. To me, a school is just another building crammed with a bunch of people, like the train station.  
  
I hate crowds, especially when they're tightly packed and moving in various directions. Even if I manage to dodge someone walking towards me, there's always someone pushing from behind. Contact with another person is sort of a fear I suppose. There are many unnatural things you acquire when you live in a closed abbey for so long.  
  
Leaning back on the seat, the comfort feels unusual. I am more used to those steel and wooden chairs back at the abbey. They were rougher, yet once you get used to something, it's hard to change. Then again, that man, Mr. Dickenson, said that 'change is good'. I don't know how much of his words I can believe. Though he is providing us with financial support, I still doubt that there's anyone who's willing to give up so much money just for a bunch of orphans. There's a chance that he might stop sending us money, or even forget, we are a long ways away from where he lives in Japan. True he has opened up a new bank account under our name, 'Ivanov' – where the hell did Tala get that name anyways? – But he can also shut it down without notice and leave us broke in the midst of recovery. How optimistic am I? Not much judging by what I've just thought about. There's more than just one downside to everything, that's how I'd like to think. Maybe that's too much caution on my part, but it can't hurt.  
  
Like I said before, I don't look forward to arrival. Truth is, I'd rather just sleep in this chair – it's getting rather cozy – for a long time to come. I have no desire to meet any of those crowds of people at the school. I'd probably just find out they're all not worth my time and want to leave before we've been there for a week. Maybe even less. Hmph. Aren't I a positive creature?  
  
---Bryan's POV---  
  
The train is unusually silent. Too silent. I hate it when there is no sound, like there is no one at all.  
  
But there are lots of them. All around me. Gathered so close. I sit still, I'm not going to let any one of them get near me.  
  
This whole trip has been torture. From the start I never wanted to leave the abbey. The quiet sanctuary of the abbey.  
  
But the others just had to drag me here. I should have used Falborg on them, but something had kept me back.  
  
The more I think the more I sound like a weakling. I hate that.  
  
I don't act emotionless so people would fear me. I do it so people would leave me alone. I thought that if I showed no signs of emotions, no one would notice me, nor react when they see me.  
  
I guess I was wrong.  
  
Balkov seemed to think that a lack of emotions was the perfect weapon. It wasn't so bad when I first started training. There was nothing new to experience from the times I had to endure living on the streets. All I had to do was be myself. That is, until I was introduced to Falborg.  
  
I did not think much of it at first, keeping it inside its bit and ignoring it completely. But its stupid whining kept me awake at night, not human speech of course, but those sharp screeches that only I, its master, could hear.  
  
I probably made a big mistake when I finally got enough and let it out. It never thanked me and I never asked for gratitude.  
  
That was when I started to become jealous. Jealous of its speed. Jealous of its strength. But mostly jealous of its freedom.  
  
I was raised in the abbey to be ruthless. To kill all that I see. But I was never given a chance to destroy. The sight of Falborg tearing through weaklings' beyblades made me hunger to do it for myself. I did almost kill one of those young recruits, but Balkov stopped me and punished me. Hmph. Hasn't he realized that he has locked me up in a cell for doing what I was trained to do?  
  
But Falborg was encouraged to destroy. Encouraged to put pain upon others.  
  
At least the abbey allowed me to use Falborg to hurt, to damage. But this place we are headed for, that school, it will just serve as a second prison to me. Restrictions on my every move.  
  
The only thing stopping me from tearing everyone from limb to limb at this moment is the fact that, if I did, that old man would probably send me to some home for the mentally challenged.  
  
I hate that old man too, Mr. Dickenson, though I'd rather not remember his name. Hate that he's providing money and shelter for us. Hate that I have to rely on someone weaker than myself.  
  
No matter how I look at it, I would rather die and rot along with the abandoned abbey than head to wherever we are going.  
  
'We' - that word makes me want to scream. I hate referring to myself in a group. It makes me feel that I actually belong with them. But I know very well I don't, nor want to. Relying and belonging is for the weak-hearted and naïve. They don't know that they're leaning on a crumbling building that will bury you alive when it collapses. If you're lucky enough, that building may not crash on you, but fall away instead, but you'll still gain a few large scars.  
  
There is no forever in this world. Let someone try to prove me wrong and they'll die first.  
  
Someone had just started snoring. At least there is sound now. But not the sound I prefer to hear. Not the sound of screaming and agony that I crave.  
  
I refused to open my tightly closed eyes. I know that if I were to set sight on Tala sitting beside me that I would really lose it. It's his red hair. That deep yet bright red, just like the color of blood.  
  
I started to finger Falborg in my jacket pocket. Its sharp attack ring calmed me as it ran along my fingers, smooth and cold.  
  
It hurt my head when I try to imagine how I will survive the next few years of my life. If it even counts as a life. There is almost no way anyone can tell me apart from someone dead. I already have unusually pale skin, dull eyes and my hair is close to white. If I were to lie down and close my eyes in a coffin, I could bet my life people would think me a corpse. But then again, my life's not worth enough to bet on.  
  
Why not end my life now?  
  
Simple. I don't have a weapon to use. Falborg would never let me use it to kill myself; it enjoys my painful suffering in life too much. The rest of my daggers that Balkov had given me had been confiscated by that old man. Why can't he just mind his own business? And choking oneself to death is not worth trying, you would loose strength in your arms before you're fully dead.  
  
Luckily, forever doesn't exist, so I won't be suffering for too long.  
  
---Spencer's POV---  
  
There was an undeniable lack of speech between us – Tala, Bryan, Ian and I. But who am I to care? Conversing isn't my strong point.  
  
Then again, re-reading newspapers as I am doing now is not very entertaining. There are hardly any articles worth reading and advertisements rein about 1/3 of almost every page. I take neither interest in the contents described nor the products being promoted, so I wonder to myself why I even bother flipping the pages.  
  
Maybe it's to keep myself occupied. Or maybe I just want to prove that the contents of the newspaper are realistic enough to signify that this isn't some illusion that I've made up; that we've actually left the abbey.  
  
To say the truth, I do consider the abbey as a cage. But a cage has two uses.  
  
One is to keep its inhabitant locked up and unable to escape. Like how we were restrained from the outside world and only let out to compete in tournaments.  
  
The second use is overlooked by most, but it does exist. Once someone thinks hard about something, there's usually a big chance that you will discover a side to that something that has never been revealed. But thinking for oneself is pretty much discouraged under Balkov's watch. But I, having completed my training early almost every day, had nothing else to do. I've pondered and came up with the fact that those metal bars of a cage can also be used to keep the inhabitant safe, away from the outside. To us four, the outside is like an obstacle course, a maze, full of the unknown and the unexplained. In our case, what we don't know can, and most likely will, hurt – and we knew too little.  
  
I suppose associating me with the other three isn't entirely right. I've had more experience in 'life' and the outside than they do. I at least know how to use the different devices that were never introduced to those in the abbey. I at least understand what the 'laws' of the outside are – though they are far less strict than the abbey. And I at least can say I've lived more than one night outside of the dark abbey dormitories.  
  
I have to admit though that they learn fast. Tala has already understood how to operate a cell phone and many others of the items Mr. Dickenson has given us. Ian has learnt his manners well, though he rarely ever uses them. Bryan on the other hand ignores anything and everything, so I can't really tell if he's adapted.  
  
I think too much. It is what a brain and mind is for, but I still think an excess of thoughts is not a good sign. Thankfully, I can hide my thoughts well. Even in front of Balkov. He thinks that I concentrate completely on training when I am in the weight room, but I can multitask fairly well.  
  
Another page full of ads – I am getting very bored seeing the same words printed in large letters that I doubt would attract much attention as opposed to what its issuers seem to think; what a waste of time and effort.  
  
It may seem I am complaining a lot, but 'normal' people don't know how relaxing it is to be able to complain freely. Though I know I can disguise my thoughts, I still feel nervous when thinking in front of Balkov. Those red lenses he wears, they hide his eyes and make you think he can probe your mind at any given moment. It sickens me how easily he has made us fear him.  
  
My fist curled and loosened, slightly crumbling the newspaper. I quickly folded the articles and placed it in my duffle bag.  
  
I treasured how I just thought 'my'. It shows that something in this world actually belongs to me. Even if it were provided by someone else, I am free to use it how I like.  
  
I never considered Seaborg to be mine, merely a tool given to me to use to Balkov's liking. It makes me wonder why I brought it along with me on this trip. I had wanted to leave everything the abbey had given me behind, including my old wardrobe – even if it only consisted of one actual combination of clothes. I had felt a kind of obligation to take Seaborg along, as if I thought it deserved to see the outside as well.  
  
But it isn't alive – right? We have always been taught that the bit beasts are no longer living, being spiritual. Then why is it that they can feel pain? And why does it have to look like a real animal?  
  
I clenched Seaborg as my hand brushed it in the duffle bag. I looked at it as it lay there, still, unlike the way it is in battle. For a second, I thought it gave off a soft, golden, glow. I stared at it for a moment more before setting the duffle bag down again.  
  
I shouldn't think too much..  
  
---To be continued 


End file.
